Note:Part I includes:
1. An "overview"; a summary of the experience written directly after I returned home.
2. A longer, more detailed account, covering the first three days of the Walk. The last four days are covered in Part II, which is another blog post.
1) An Overview
Written early June:
I return from The Migrant Trail walk very tired, very sore, but very happy. The experience was quite difficult at times, but so moving that I cannot imagine my life without having done it. I am pretty sure that I would like to do it again.
I actually ended up only walking 50 miles of the 75 miles. For the first part of the walk, I was on the "environmental team", the team in charge of latrines. This meant that for the first half of the Walk, we only walked around half the distance each day. We rode ahead on the support vehicles on every other "leg" of the trip, to prepare the latrines for the "rest stops". (For the short "water stops", participants were expected to pee in the bushes if they absolutely had to.)
The "logistics team" and the "food team" also did not walk the entire distance. They had to send some of their members to ride ahead each leg, to prepare the snacks, erect the "easy-up" shade covers, and spread tarps under them.
The safety team, on the other hand, walked the entire way. Sometimes they even were running up and down the line of walkers, for warnings, and emergencies.
Each day had 'rest stops' (15 minutes, snacks, gatorade) and 'water stops' (five minutes, fill up your water bottle, and chug-a-lug it.) The distance in between those stops was called a a 'leg'.
The second half of the walk was on the highway. We on the environmental team now had the opportunity to walk the entire way, because once we reached the highway, the group used "porta-potties" on a flatbed trailer drawn by a small truck.
We always walked at a good clip, 3 miles an hour, keeping the line together with no gaps, and if we were on the highway, no talking, and following the white line exactly. The banner was carried somewhat back from the front of the line, and the people carrying it were rotated so it wasn't too much of the burden on any two people. It was important that we give the impression of a dedicated, energetic line, not a bunch of stragglers chatting away to each other.
The lead person carried a prayer stick which Maria had made, wound with a long string of green yarn with 142 red ties on it, one for each person who has died on this trail this year. We were each invited to carry it and be at the front of the line for a time, if we wished.
Also, by starting out at 6 AM and moving at a good clip, we could be at our next camp by around noon and avoid walking in the worst heat of the day.
I did walk the entire fourth day, which was the longest day, 15.9 miles and over 110 degrees. That long day so thoroughly tired me out that for the remaining three days I decided that it would be wise to ride a few miles of each day in the support vehicles.
It was stressed to us over and over that we should ask to ride if we had any doubts that we could make the next leg. It would be much more difficult for the support vehicles to circle back and pick up someone who had over-estimated their ability. They asked us to opt for riding if we did not feel 100% confident that we could make each "leg".
The person who encouraged me to participate in the Migrant Trail Walk was my friend Ann, whom I met through my travel club. She had walked the year before, and she'd impressed them so much that she'd been asked to be one of the leaders of the Food Team.
I started training for the Walk in March, with a weekly walk of 7 miles. Over the next few months I gradually increased the distance of that weekly walk until I was up to twelve miles.
I had thought I would wear jeans for the Walk, but during the hotter days of my practice hikes, I found that jeans rubbed on my calves, resulting in a painful, dark-red heat rash. Surprisingly, the garment which did not cause this rash was some leggings I'd bought for Zumba! So, during the walk I alternated between these leggings and a long denim skirt.
My good friend Ann and I, on the last morning of the walk.
I was so impressed by the caliber of the people I met. So many of the participants do so much good work on border issues.
One couple, when they retired, moved down to Douglas, Arizona, where they spend their time volunteering on both sides of the border. One lady, Margo, is one of the top immigration lawyers in the country, and has helped hundreds of immigrants get their citizenship, or get out of jail. I would estimate 3/4 of the participants on the walk are people who do some kind of work or volunteering related to border issues.
At night the stars were so fantastic! And we all happened to be looking in the same direction when that asteroid came down to earth, and we all saw it! A brilliant ball of fire.
I played harmonica at the talent show, accompanying Jack, who played guitar and sang a couple of rousing blues numbers, and people went crazy. I also played an Arabic song on tambourine to accompany two girls who did poi dancing, to great response. Hey, when people have gone almost a week without recorded music, movies, or TV, everything sounds good to them!
Yes, it was a difficult experience, but an incredibly moving one.
2) A Day-by-Day Account of my Week on the Migrant Trail Walk
The Walk officially started on Sunday, May 28 with a meeting at a Presbyterian Church in Tucson. My friend Ann's friend Barb volunteered to drive the three of us down to Tucson.
Dale Sr. drove me into Tempe to meet Ann. First, I accompanied her to the service of the Guardian Angels Catholic Congregation (a congregation which uses the traditional Catholic prayers and service, but is welcoming to gay people and has a female, married pastor instead of the traditional celibate priest), As part of the service, the pastor gave the three of us who were going on the Walk a blessing by annointing our foreheads with oil. At the social hour after the service, I met Barb. Soon we were on the road to Tucson.
When we arrived at the beautiful adobe-style Presbyterian church there, we got our name tags and officially registered for the Walk. We had a delicious dinner which was provided for us by one of the groups who works toward more humane border laws.
The people sitting around me at dinner were all so impressive! Jack and Linda had moved down to Douglas, Arizona when they retired, just so they could work on border issues. They spent their time doing volunteer work on both sides of the border.
Jamie was a professor who taught border issues. She had with her two students, very impressive girls named Marija and Flor. Because she had been so impressed with these two students, she had applied for a grant to take them on the Walk, and also to spend some time before the walk learning about border issues. They had spent the last few days on something called the BorderLinks tour.
First dinner with the group. Joining us were the volunteers who prepared and served the dinner.
Then we had our "organizational meeting".
There are different "teams" which each are responsible for some aspect of this 80 person walk. There was the Safety Team, all wearing orange vests, which used two-way radios and walked beside the other walkers, sometimes needing to do extra jogging to get to the front or back if there was a problem. Ann knew that Barb, quite the organizer at their church and also an avid hiker, was very capable of being on the Safety Team, so she suggested that Barb volunteer for that one.
The photo above is Barb in her Safety Team vest.
As I was not even sure I could make the entire Walk on my own, and feared that even if I did I would be too tired to think responsibly, I of course did not sign up for the Safety Team!
The "Medical Team" all carried first aid kits and were responsible for all first aid, the most common of which was piercing blisters and taping up peoples feet. I feared that I might be too tired to help other people in that manner, so I didn't sign up for that team either!
Ann had been on the food team the year before, and this year she had been asked to be one of that "teams" two leaders. I had decided I would not ask to be on that team, because if I had a melt-down from the difficulty of the walk, I did not want it to affect my friendship with Ann!
Here's Ann giving a presentation about how the food set up would work. She did a really great job as leader of the food team, and it was inspiring to watch her leadership skills.
Ann giving presentation about the Food Team
The Logistics Team was responsible not only for loading up everyone's gear in the morning, and also for riding ahead and setting up camp in the evening. As they had only half as much time to pack up their own stuff and eat breakfast as the rest of us, I decided against that team!
The Support Team was not one of my options, because it was made up of those who drove the support vehicles. These were two vans (both of which happened to be driven by immigration lawyers) a truck with the food trailer, and a truck with a trailer full of all of our gear, and the all-important "water truck" with a trailer of huge blue jugs of water, and (strictly separated from the water) the latrine supplies.
So that left me one team, the Environmental Team, whose responsibility was the latrines for the first half of the trip. My decision was cemented when the two leaders of this team got up and gave their presentation, and were absolutely hilarious.
I really liked everyone on this team. Our team was divided into two halves, "Number One" and "Number Two" (I know, heh heh). Every other "leg" of the day's walk we walked with the group, and every other "leg" we rode ahead and dug holes, set up the latrine tents with sawdust, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, buckets with toilet seats, all at great speed. There was a lot of pressure to have the latrines all completely ready when "the walkers" arrived.
So what this meant was that for the first half of the trip, the part where we were not on the highway, I only had to walk half of the distance each day. On the second half of the trip we were on the highway, and we had two "portapotties" on a trailer pulled by a little blue pickup truck driven by one of the Environmental Team.
The leader of my half of the food team was Helaine. Whatever little job she asked of us, she showered us with praise and thanks when we did it. Actually, everyone was trying really hard.
After the teams were organized, the group's leaders went on to tell us other important information about the Walk. As they spoke I began to see how absolutely crucial it was that a group this large be extremely well-organized, if we were to successfully accomplish something this difficult. It was obvious that every little thing they told us had been learned the hard way, through past mistakes. I listened very carefully.
For safety's sake, we were asked to not to sleep out of sight of the rest of the group. Every night, two hours at a time, people took turns staying awake with a flashlight and a phone with which to call group leaders if anything untoward happened.
Another important topic concerned the time we would be in Sásabe, Mexico. We were told (not asked) to look straight ahead of us as we walked single-file through that little town, to never, ever leave the group for any reason, and to never take photographs. These days, Sásabe is controlled by people-smuggling gangs.
It was explained to us that when the border patrol added stronger controls to the larger entry points to the east and west, more of the people smugglers started using Sásabe as an entry point.
After this meeting was finished, Barb drove Ann and I to the motel where we had rented a room for the night. We had opted for the motel so that we could have one last shower before we started on the walk. (Many of the participants just rolled out their sleeping bags on the floor of the Presbyterian church)
.Unfortunately for Barb, I was just getting over a cold and snored even louder than I usually do!
The next morning we drove back to the Presbyterian church. Getting our stuff into the right pile and figuring out which van we would ride in was complicated, especially because the church was in the process of giving a hot breakfast to a huge group of homeless guys (it looked a lot better than the spread in the breakfast room of our motel, actually!). We put our gear in the pile to be loaded up, and went in the church for one last meeting.I had brought two water bottles, both good quality, one metal and one plastic. I wasn't sure if the metal one, which I preferred had a large enough top. (The group must fill all the water bottles of so many people, so swiftly, at every stop, that a water bottle with a wide mouth is mandated.) The metal one was indeed large enough, so Barb offered that I leave the plastic water bottle in her car for the week, but instead I offered it to a group of homeless guys. One of them came running up and claimed it joyfully. It felt like a nice way to start the week.
The beautiful banner which was carried by participants during the walk. It was painted by Jennifer.
Here's Tom, driver of the water truck and leader of the Support Team, addressing the group the following morning. Tom reminded me a lot of our brother Joseph. Rather brusque and intimidating, he has a heart of gold. He is affiliated with the American Friends Service Committee in Denver, Colorado. They have done valuable work gaining citizenship for fugitive immigrants.
Tom addressing the group
Then came the press conference part of the meeting.
There were speeches by group leader and one by the youngest member of the group, a high school girl named Ruby who was doing the walk with her mother and her grandmother.
News photographers present included the local news of Univision, and the local Fox affiliate.
At the end of the meeting, we each chose, from a large open bag full of them, a wooden cross to carry. Each cross had the name of someone who had perished, this very year, along the route we were to walk.
Then we all piled into the vans, to be driven to Sásabe, Mexico.
Mike drives us down to Mexico.
Next to me in the van was an older man from Guatemala whose name was Manuel (call me "Meme" he said)., who had made the same walk we were doing as an illegal immigrant, 20 years before, with his son and another family member. He said that crossing that stretch of desert was more difficult than all the rest of the trip from Guatemala combined.
He was able to tell me how to pronounce the Quiche surname of the person whose name was on my cross, "Tambriz-Xum". He also was able to tell me that all the people with that family name came from one town in Guatemala, Nahuala.
He said that some towns in Guatemala are safe to visit, and some are not. Antigua, famous for its colonial buildings, has many tourist police, he said.
Meme also told me, quietly, when we were standing together after getting out of the van, that every person who wants to cross the border at Sásabe has to give a certain amount of money to the gangs who control the town. This is over and above what they have to give to the people-smuggler. I do not remember the exact amount, but I do remember that it was a huge amount.
Meme was only going to walk with us for the first day and the last day, as he had to be at his job at the Tucson airport during the week. He told me that after he had been in the US long enough to get his citizenship, he had been able to bring his wife and his daughter in also, and that they were all citizens.
It meant a great deal to me to be able to talk to someone who had made the same trek which were were making, without any help or support that we would have.
"We were lucky," he said. "At any time, someone could have killed us. But they didn't."
Mike, the driver of our van, was also very interesting. I asked him how he came to be so fluent in Spanish, as he did not appear to be of Hispanic heritage.
It turned out that he travels down to the Kino Bay area several times a year, working with the Seri Indians to help them sell their Ironwood carvings. He does various other things to make is living also, including driving youth groups to and from camp or on trips.
It was a very weird sensation to cross the border and go a few short blocks through this desolate little town, and get to the church. Later I heard that the priest only visits that church once a month.
Of course, I followed our group's leaders admonition to not take photos of Sásabe. The photo I use below was taken from Google Images.
At the simple brick church, we were given a lovely lunch of soft tacos and beans, by nuns and other church workers. Standing around were older Mexican men, and all of these wonderful people came from the town of Altar, seventy miles away.
"Prayer for the Brother Immigrants", interior of the church in Sásabe
We all filed into the church and were given a speech by the local priest, who was not wearing his habit but rather jeans and a plaid shirt. Flor, one of the students on the walk, translated and did a good job of it. The speech was gripping. One of the saddest things I remember is that the priest said that of the women who make the crossing, 80% were violated by men in the course of making the crossing. Because of this, he said that women routinely take a contraceptive before they make the trip, a contraceptive which lasts an entire year.
Oh, oh, oh.....words cannot express the sadness!
The priest addresses us while Flor translates.
After the priest talked to us, we began our single-file walk through town, swiftly, silently, carrying our banner as pick-up trucks drove slowly beside us. We had been told that we would be protected by a "police escort" but these were unmarked trucks, and I would not be surprised if they were driven by the same guys from Altar who had been with us at the church in Sásabe.
A desolate little town. There were a few fancy houses, and I shuddered to think how the owners of these houses got their money. Once out of town, we walked on silently until we got to the border, where we all showed our passports, which group leaders had asked us to have ready.
Photo below of Sásabe, Mexico (from Google Images)
We actually had two sisters on the walk with us, Naty (for Natividad) and Lupita, who had originally lived in Sásabe as little girls. When they lived there it had been a nice little town. She said that many of the men worked making adobe bricks, and others worked on a big American ranch just north of the border.
"Naty" and Lupita
"When we would cross," Naty told me, "The border agent would just wave us on across, just smile and wave us through."
Sásabe was such a nice little town back then, they said. Social life centered around the church,."There was always something happening at the church." The same church which is now only visited by a priest once a month.
Once out of Sásabe we walked along the edge of the highway, still single file.
We stopped before the border for the ceremony led by Maria, using the prayer stick. Around the stick was wound a green string more than 100 feet long, with little tufts of red thread tied all along its length, one for each of the 142 migrants who have died in "the Tucson corridor" during the past year. We made a big circle in a large open area. Enough of the people in our group had done the Walk before that everyone seemed to know what to do.
The string was unwound from the prayer stick, so that it stretched across the diameter of our large circle. The three youngest members of the group, all teenagers, stood in several places to hold up the string, and indigenous prayers and thoughts about those who had died were said.
(Maria had asked that no photos be taken of the ceremony.)
We had all been told to have our passports within easy reach, and the single-file group crossed the border quite rapidly, each of us showing our passports briefly to the polite, dark-green uniformed US border agents. The place where the two or three agents stood was at the entrance to a bridge, a bridge with metal framework overhead. There was no wall that I could see at this part of the border.
We had been warned of a guy who would be ranting and raving and "waving a gun" along the road soon after we entered the U.S. I and Barb both had some apprehension about this. Before long, a kind of sing-song voice was heard. I only was aware of this person with my peripheral vision, and couldn't actually see the gun, as we'd been asked to walk by him staring straight ahead and not to acknowledge him.
Actually, walking past the ranting guy turned out not to feel scary. In spite of the angry words (something about that we should be ashamed to be Americans) he almost sounded like he was enjoying himself, as though our passing group gave him a chance to act important.
Once we got off the highway, and could walk in double rather than single file, I did take a quick photo of the walking group.
The group turns off the highway into the nature reserve.
This first day was relatively short, only about six miles. We only had one "long stop", with snacks and shade-covers set up by those on the "logistics team" who had driven ahead.
The first campsite was in a relatively open area with a few mesquites here and there. I spread my sleeping bag out on some grass near Ann's, Barb was nearby in her tent.
Our first campsite
I did not sleep well at all that first night. I had only made a cursory check for rocks, and had not noticed that there was kind of a shallow rise in the middle of where I had laid my bag out. Every position which was comfortable seemed to lead to leg cramps.
A desperate sense of panic overtook me, and I feared that the trip would be much more difficult for me than I had even feared. I think I only got a couple of hours of sleep all night.
My folding camp chair was useful for placing items on at night in a way that they could be reached for in the dark. I set my cross, with Diego Tambriz-Zum's name on it, carefully upright against the back of the chair.
Our "environmental team" had set up three little privy tents, each tall enough for a person to stand in but only about 2' by 2' wide at the bottom. In each of these was a bucket with a toilet seat on it, and a bag with sawdust.
These little tents were set up on the other side of the dirt forest service road from the area where everyone slept. I needed to use the latrine around two in the morning, and it was easy to walk in the direction of the road, flashlight pointed down so as not to wake anyone, and then, once on the road, I could turn right and raise the flashlight until the tall narrow latrine tents came into view.
Several people put their crosses in a ring around an unused fire-pit.
.
During the day, the group left each stop, (whether long or short stop) we would call out, in turn, the names of the people on our crosses, the people who had perished along this way, starting from the rear. Again as we approached the next stop, but starting from the front. I am ashamed to admit that it was always such a relief to hear them calling out all of the names of these poor souls, because it meant that a rest stop was coming.
I learned to always to look around and watch for Helaine, our team leader. If she got in a van, I knew it was my team-half's turn to ride in the van and and set up the latrines. It would have been so embarrassing to ride in the van when it was our turn to walk, and just as embarrassing if kept walking with the group and therefore was not there to help my team set up latrines.
This is what I liked about how organized everything was. When it was my turn to work, I had to work hard. But if it wasn't my turn to work, I could with a clean conscience lounge about and do what I wished. (My memory of communal situations in the 1970's was that everyone always helped when they felt like it, and I always felt guilty that I was not helping enough.)
Here is a photo of the three young people on the Walk. They were all on the food team, which meant that they rode half of the "legs". But food team people (Ann was one of them) had much to do when they arrived at each long stop or evening set-up, and were standing serving snacks while the rest of us rested.
The three youngest members of the group. Chayanne (on the left) is related to Naty and Lupita. The boy in the middle is Josue, the son of a long-time participant, and Ruby, on the right, was accompanied by both her mother and her grandmother!
Because these kids were on the food team and I was on the environmental team, we would sometimes end up riding in Mike's van together. It was fun to hear them chatting, singing songs from musicals they had performed in in high school. Chayanne is he grand-daughter of one of the two ladies from Sasabe, and is involved in ROTC as well as drama activities.Our second night, we slept among the mesquite trees, and the campsite had a view of the mountain peak Baboquivari.
Our second night's campsite
That evening, Ann gave me some advice which really helped to end the night leg cramps. She suggested that I raise my legs up against a tree for a while before I went to sleep. This really helped! She said that with such a long walk, the blood can pool in your lower legs.
I did sleep a great deal better that night, and the remaining nights.
Our third night was also under the shade of the mesquites.
Lupita said, "There is no shade like the shade of a mesquite tree."
Among the chatter of voices after people set up their tents, you could hear guitar music. Jack was playing blues and country, and for a while I joined in on harmonica. Then, a little later, I was drawn to the sound of a Latin song. Near the food prep trailer, Saulo was jamming with Jorge, who was pounding out a rhythm on a plastic bucket. Lupe and Nati were so enjoying it. I went to get my tambourine and it seemed to fit.
Then the two guys yelled out a long drawn out "Hey!" and up walked Tchilo. He sang along with them, and shortly after the photo below was taken, he got up and danced, doing hilarious impressions of female Latin singers! We were in stitches.
Saulo and friends jamming, the girl on the left is Tschilo's sister.
I particularly loved one of the songs they did "Esa Negra Tomasa". I especially loved the part where the rhythm ramped up as it went into the chorus. I asked Saulo for the name of the group which recorded it, so that I could buy the recording and maybe learn the song.*
Later in the afternoon, a truck arrived from the organization Humane Borders and sprayed us all off with water! There was water dripping off one side of the truck, so I ran to get my shampoo and soaped my head there before I got in line to get sprayed off: clean hair! (I have very oily hair, so it itches if I go without washing it.) Everyone was so happy, feeling so refreshed in their dripping wet clothes, which soon dried in the heat.
The organization Humane Borders brought their water truck to refresh us with a wonderful spray of water!
Well, that was my account of the first three days of the Walk. Days 4-7 will be covered in a second blog post, called "Walking to Remember Those Who Perished Here, Part II"
Footnote about the song "La Negra Tomasa".
*I have since done so. Jennie Coral, one of my mom's care-givers, is from Peru. She says it is an old song, a song everyone knows about. It turns out that the song is originally Cuban.
